


Shot in the Dark

by coolbyrne



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 07:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17845220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: After a round of paintball, Gibbs and Jack discover they have their eyes on the same target. Metaphorically speaking.





	Shot in the Dark

A/N: I had intended to write this solely around a single scene with Jack and Gibbs paintballing, but that didn’t actually make it to this fic. Also meant to explore the Gibbs/Bishop relationship more, but didn’t get to that, either. Maybe another fic. (And I know the chance is slim to none that Gibbs would actually go paintballing, but I couldn’t resist.) 

…..

“You don’t have to apologize, Ellie.”

“I know, but I feel like I should. I really like our Friday nights.”

“We _are_ pretty bad ass, huh?”

Bishop grinned at Jack. “Yeah. We are.”

“But you’ve got a prior engagement, and that’s okay.” She squeezed Ellie’s arm in reassurance. Bending her head closer, she whispered, “Is it with a certain dark-haired fashion-conscious NCIS agent?” She didn’t need an answer; Bishop’s flush said it all. “Say no more. We’ll go next Friday.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Am I interrupting somethin’?”

The women jumped at the voice in the doorway. 

Jack put her hand on her chest. “Yep. Heart's still beating. That’s good.”

Gibbs ignored her mild accusation. “You got a profile on our suspect?” Before she could answer, he rose an eyebrow in Bishop’s direction. “You get the victim’s cell phone logs?”

“On it. Thanks, Jack.”

“Tell me all about it on Monday.”

Gibbs watched his young agent depart, then asked, “Tell you all about what?”

“Girl talk. You wouldn’t be interested.” Blithely pretending it wasn’t an intended change in topic, she sat behind her desk and opened the file. “You want to talk about the suspect or are you just going to glare at me all day?”

He coughed out a short laugh. “Just waitin’ on you, Special Agent Sloane.”

…..

From the top of the stairs, he lobbed his question into the empty bullpen, save for Bishop. “Where’s Torres and McGee?”

“Got a call from the suspect’s last girlfriend. They’re checking it out. I’m still running the diagnostics on the victim’s phone.”

He nodded his approval. Without breaking stride to his desk, he said, “Convince Agent Sloane to go tomorrow night.”

Bishop frowned at his cryptic request. “What?”

“The paintball thing you two do on Fridays,” he replied without looking up from his paperwork. “Convince her to go.”

She squinted as she put the pieces together, and when the shoe dropped, she stopped herself from asking what he had heard. His ability to hide how much or how little he knew about anything was one of the many things that she found more than a little scary. “It’s a team of two,” she said instead. “We play in pairs.”

“So tell her you’ve got someone to fill your place.” 

He signed one of the papers like he hadn’t just coerced her into a secret plot with a simple request. She grinned at his casual stealthiness and wasn’t surprised at all to find she was ready to jump in with both feet. He had that ability, too.

“Okay,” she agreed, unable to hide her eagerness.

“Okay,” he echoed, offering the faintest smirks as his thanks.

…..

“You sure your guy’s showing up?”

Jack stood in her paintball attire, gun at her side, helmet pushed up on her head. She didn’t know how to answer, since she didn’t know who her guy was. She only knew that Ellie had somehow convinced her to show up, promising she’d send ‘a good guy’ in her place. Though she ended up agreeing, Jack began wondering if it might have been a mistake. As much as she liked the young agent, a small part of her worried this might be a matchmaking situation, and she wasn’t sure how to tell Bishop she wasn’t interested, unless the ‘good guy’ was a certain silver-haired, blue-eyed Mar-

“Gibbs!” Her exclaim was so spontaneous that her 2 paintball teammates turned in surprise, and she coughed to cover her delight. “I mean, what are you doing here?”

“Heard you were short one,” he replied, as if showing up was a regular occurrence instead of being completely out of the blue.

“I- yeah. Yeah.” She gestured to the 2 men. “Marcus, Rick, meet Gibbs. Gibbs, Marcus and RIck.”

Gibbs held out his hand and received 2 firm handshakes in return. “Good to meet you.”

“They’re PPD,” Jack filled in, finding solid ground in what she knew, even though she was still off-balance by Gibbs’ appearance.

“K-9 unit,” Marcus said. “But we don’t tell anyone here what we do.”

Rick grinned. “We tell ‘em we’re security guards. Lulls ‘em into a false sense of, well, security.”

“Got it,” Gibbs said.

“So what do you do?” Marcus asked. “You look military.”

Before he had the chance to reply, a group of young men sauntered into the scene. In a habit that had been honed in over 20 years of investigative experience, Gibbs quickly put together an Identi-kit profile of the new arrivals: between 20 and 25, dark hair, brown eyes, 3 with athletic builds, approximately 190 pounds, the shorter one at least 20 pounds heavier. None shorter than 5 foot 9 but only one closer to 6 feet. There was nothing remarkable about them that he hadn’t seen in hundreds of other college jocks. His stare didn’t waver as the 4 men eyed up their new competition.

“Where’s the hot blonde?” one smirked.

“Must be talkin’ about you,” Gibbs deadpanned to Jack.

“Nah, I mean the young one.”

Marcus and Rick groaned, and Jack bit back a retort. Gibbs, on the other hand, cooly leveled his attention at Douchebag #1. “You mean my daughter?”

Jack covered her mouth with the back of her hand and turned away. The two men immediately caught on to the ruse and watched for the fallout. Unfortunately, Douchebag #1’s friend quickly stepped in to put his own foot in it.

“Using her sniper marker,” he noted. “That’s cute. Can you see that far?” He elbowed his mates and laughed.

“S’got a scope,” Gibbs replied. “I’ll try an’ make do.”

Douchebag #2 clapped Gibbs’ shoulder and said, “Good luck.” 

Gibbs slowly shifted his stare to the hand on his shoulder, then brought steely blue eyes back to Douchebag #2’s now faltering gaze. His 3 teammates, sensing a storm on the horizon, grabbed his elbow and pulled him to safety. Jack did the same to Gibbs, but with much more amusement.

“C’mon, Cowboy.”

Rick beamed. “Oh, this is gonna be fun! Now, let’s go over the rules. Four teams, colour-coded. We’re obviously blue.” He gestured to the arm band around his bicep while Jack pulled one out of her pocket and rolled it up Gibbs’ sleeve. “Twenty objects- mostly cars and small bunkers- in the centre of the playing area have a flag. The object is to get all the flags and eliminate the other teams. You get hit, you stay where you are, ‘cause it makes whatever flags you got open to anyone.”

“So we don’t have to get the flags ourselves,” Gibbs said.

Rick frowned in confusion but Marcus snapped his fingers. “I hear ya. No. We don’t.”

Jack nodded with a confident smirk. “We make them do all the work.”

“Who’s the strongest team, besides us?” Gibbs asked.

His confidence made everyone smile. “Green,” Rick answered.

“Okay. We got a map?” When Jack held it up, he brought them in. “Here’s the plan.”

…..

By the time the Green team realized their biggest competition hadn’t stormed to the centre of the wooded playing field like everyone else, but instead circled around to attack from behind, it was too late. The Red team fell in easy succession, 4 clean shots from a raised blind that Gibbs had sussed out and used to give his teammates cover as they moved forward. With only the White team left, they didn’t have to do anything but sit back and wait while the hotheads did all the work for them. Gibbs took more than a little measure of satisfaction when Jack ambushed the last guy, made him drop his weapon, then called out, “Gibbs!” If the kid complained the 3 head shots were overkill, Gibbs would wave it off as ‘just to be sure’.

Now sitting back with their beers, they laughed at the evening.

“You shoulda seen that little fucker’s face when he reached into the car for the flag and I was in the backseat!” Rick crowed. 

Marcus clanked his bottle against Rick’s. “We won’t be able to use that strategy again, but it was worth it. How'd you get that ass to drop his gun?”

“Bet him a hundred dollars Gibbs could hit him from 50 yards.” Jack mirrored Marcus and tapped her bottle to Gibbs’. “Like taking candy from a baby.” She leaned into his shoulder. “Must’ve felt good to know you still got it.”

“Never thought I lost it.” His lips twitched playfully at her eye roll and he grinned at the hoot of laughter from Rick.

Jerking his chin in Gibb’s direction, Marcus said, “You never did say what you did for a living.”

“Work with Jack,” he replied, taking a drink.

Rick squinted. “You’re a head doctor? Nah.”

The idea and subsequent dismissal made Gibbs chuckle. “No,” he replied, deciding he liked the 2 men. “NCIS.”

“And before that, Gunnery Sergeant, US Marine Corps.” 

Jack's pride had the words out before she realized it wasn't her place to say. She immediately touched his leg under the table in silent apology and was surprised to feel his hand cover hers when she made a motion to pull away. His expression betrayed nothing and she marvelled at his impassiveness, when she was suddenly hyper aware of her heart rate and his calloused fingers lightly stroking hers. Fortunately, their tablemates continued the conversation, either oblivious or politely pretending to be so.

“I knew it!” Marcus snapped his fingers. “Military. Called it.”

Rick returned the high-five before coming to a revelation of his own. “You’re Bishop's Gibbs.” Seeing the interested expression of the man across the table, he clarified, “She talks about you a lot. Now I see why she chose the sniper marker.”

Gibbs felt Jack turn her hand in his to squeeze his fingers. “She's a good-” He stopped himself from saying ‘kid’, knowing these were her friends and that she deserved to be seen as something more. “She's never let me down.” He paused. “Might talk to her about her role models, though.” His dry self-deprecating humor got another round of laughs and another squeeze from Jack.

“Nah,” Rick said. “Pretty sure she won't do better than Agent Gibbs.” He held the same beat Gibbs had. “But she could work on her long distance shooting a bit more.”

“I'll let _you_ tell her that,” Gibbs replied. “Her short-range shooting is pretty damn good.”

Marcus nodded and drained his beer. “Well, if she ever needs to call in a replacement, you're always welcome, Agent Gibbs.”

“Just ‘Gibbs’,” he said, returning the handshake.

Standing, Marcus made a motion to drop money on the table, which Gibbs waved off. Nodding his thanks, he turned to his partner. “Ready? If I stay out any longer, Maddy's going to be pissed.”

“Girlfriend?” Jack asked, knowing neither men were married. 

“No. My dog!”

…..

“So how did Ellie convince you to come?”

After the 2 men had left, Jack and Gibbs settled in for another beer. Despite the seat across being open, Gibbs hadn’t moved and Jack was comfortable enough to turn in her spot and rest her knee against his thigh. With some personal amusement, she wondered what he thought of it, despite knowing his face would never say. When he didn’t reply, she used that knee to nudge him. It was only seeing his casual shrug that she realized the truth.

“You got Ellie to convince _me_ to come.” She wagged her finger at him. “Tricky.”

He shifted in his seat enough to rest his arm along the back of the booth. “And how exactly did she go about doin’ that?”

“She told me I’d be letting down the team. And to not worry- she knew ‘a good guy’.”

“She meant a good shooter.”

Jack pretended to mull over the comment. “No, no I don’t think so. I mean, you are a good shooter. But you’re a good guy, too.”

Trying to deflect the comment with a stern head shake didn’t work.

“You’re a great guy,” she corrected. “One of the best I’ve ever met. And before you say anything, no, I don’t have to get out more.”

This got a laugh and she basked in its warmth.

“You had a good time tonight.”

He nodded at the statement. “Yeah, I did.”

The calloused fingers that had done such a number on her heart earlier in the evening now, almost absently, landed on her shoulder, like a long lost visitor at the doorstep waiting for an invitation.

“You could come every Friday,” she offered. 

The 12 year old in him revealed itself through his playfully raised eyebrows, even as his touch showed the confidence of a man.

“Oh my God, you’re incorrigible,” she accused, slapping his leg.

He didn’t deny it, but instead shook his head and said, “That’s your thing with Bishop. You two need it.”

She agreed. As much as she had enjoyed the evening, she had really come to look forward to her time with the young agent. In an office that was testosterone-heavy, it was nice to have ‘girl time’, even if shooting paint at people for an hour didn’t quite fit the stereotypical description.

“True. But we could always start our own thing.” His eyebrow remained raised. “Would you stop?”

His eyes said he had no intention of doing such a thing, which undermined his off-the-cuff suggestion. “We could always do it Saturday mornings.”

She waited to see if there would be a clarification that would steer the suggestion away from the double-entendre it landed in, but none was forthcoming. She opened her mouth once, then closed it, narrowed her eyes and pressed her lips together.

“I have many things to say but not when you’re giving me that look.” His smile took years off his face. “I’m beginning to see how you convinced 4 women to marry you.”

“Even easier convincin’ 3 of them to divorce me.” 

The hand tried to move away from her shoulder, but she very confidently put it back, much to his surprise.

“Their loss,” she said, her even tone at odds with her heart that had begun pounding again. 

He looked down and smiled, though she wasn’t sure if it was in response to her words or those that were clearly playing privately in his head. His hand was sniper steady on her shoulder and his eyes were target sharp, and she wondered if she had the courage to take a shot in the dark.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday.”

“Yep.”

She would’ve strangled the man for intentionally being an ass, if it wasn’t for the gentle hand that had moved from her shoulder to her collarbone. His gaze raised and didn’t waver from hers, though she took some solace in seeing the infinitesimal flinch in the corner of his eye. Bravery and strength made up so much of who he was, but seeing the minute flaw in his armour gave comfort rather than concern, knowing she wasn’t the only one going into things blind. Raising her chin, she went all in.

“I’m free in the morning. If you want to start-” _Not quite so ‘all in’._ “That thing. Our own thing.”

He dropped his hand and for one fleeting, embarrassing moment, she thought she had read it all wrong. But when his hand pulled out some bills from his pocket and he threw a grin over his shoulder, her laughter dispelled her nerves.

“You comin’?” he asked as he stood.

He wasn’t the only one whose mind enjoyed some time in the gutter, and he growled at her not so innocent smirk, but it was too late. Using his arm as a way to lift herself from the booth, she hopped up by his side and lowered her voice, emboldened by his invitation.

“I have no doubt.”

He watched her walk away, his jaw shifting in amused surprise. 

“An’ I’m the incorrigible one.”

…..


End file.
